


Excuse Us While We Kiss

by pinkplanet



Category: South Park
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Multi, Polyfidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkplanet/pseuds/pinkplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three boys navigate the sort of peculiar, sometimes exciting, and always confusing series of events that come with being an Alpha and two Omegas in a relationship. STYLENNY, specifically Alpha!Kenny/Omega!Kyle/Omega!Stan; ABO!verse. Will consist of loosely related one-shots/drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing SP! This is a little self-indulgent. Ehe. I am just stupidly in love with this threesome and ABO!verse, both of which this fandom does not have enough of.
> 
> Ah, I'm so nervous. Enjoy!

Stan didn't know why he loved - or even liked - South Park. His inexplicable affection was akin to expressing nostalgia for carbon emissions or alien abductions, both things which he knew his weird little mountain town had an abundance of. Whenever he blurted out his weakness for the place his friends had a variety of mostly predictable reactions.

Kenny would yawn politely, but his eyes never lost its slight twinkle ("Sorry dude, kinda hungover from yesterday's mixer. You won't believe how many hot betas there are in North Park!"). Kyle would smile indulgently at first but begin one of his indignant rants if Stan got too chatty about this particular topic ("South Park doesn't even have a University! But we have clinics for abortion and plastic surgery? You gotta admit this town's priorities are kinda fucked up; I mean, we don't even have a center for the protection of Omega Rights like in goddamned Denver-"). Cartman would sneer his apparent disdain and comment in his usual way which made everyone within a 10-feet radius want to punch him in the face ("Fuck you guys, I'm getting out of this town as soon as we graduate and I'll never have to see you bitches again. Especially this Jew faggot over here, I bet he'll turn out to be the bitchiest omega of them all.").

Stan cared about their opinions, but not to the extent that he'd let it really influence this long-held affection. So he liked the town for the most part, big whoop. 

In the first place, the town had the virtues of its defects. Bizarre? Sure. But bizarre also translated to exciting, thrilling, blood-pumping. Stan liked that - but not too much, or else he was probably in danger of puking. It was also, in its own way, progressive - lord knows how many eldritch abominations and otherworldly events had crossed the town's path, and yet the townspeople seemed to accept most of these as commonplace. 

But when it came to sexual dynamics, the town was as rigid as ever. Stan didn't really get it as a nine year-old, but when omega girls who presented at thirteen or fourteen started dropping out of school or turning up pregnant, it became sort of a necessity to designate separate classes for alphas from that of omegas or betas. The unpresented were stuck in a gray line of neutrality whose only dating currency were their looks, not their scent, status, or anything considered substantial.

Stan didn't really mind the separation when Kenny and Cartman eventually presented as alphas. Some secondary schools off-state, like New York, Washington or California only separated alphas from omegas and betas, with unpresented having a choice between sections. But not in South Park High - everyone who presented from ages twelve to eighteen had to attend separate classes based on their status. 

"I honestly thought Kenny was gonna be a beta," Stan whispered to Kyle as they got their lunch trays later that fateful day. 

"Really?"

"Yeah. I dunno, he's just so... chill." Alphas were aggressive, betas were in the middle of the scale so they had the most 'balanced' personality, and omegas were meek and timid. Supposedly.

"Wow, way to evaluate someone you've known for almost a decade," Kyle said, with no small amount of sarcasm. "Things do faze Kenny. You don't notice sometimes because your head's too far up your own ass. Or Wendy's ass. I forgot, are you guys still dating or?"

Wendy had presented alpha three weeks ago. Stan felt it was downhill from there, because how was he going to sustain any romance with a fellow alpha. Wendy said he was being a presumptuous dumbass since he hadn't even presented yet, but - "Nah. Broke it off two weeks ago, remember? She said I wasn't committed enough or something." 

Kyle's face twisted a bit. "You've got to let her go for real this time, Stan. It's not healthy to have this on-off thing. Last time you guys broke up, you almost got yourself in the hospital with a DUI to match. Not healthy at all."

"Okay, first, what do you know about relationships when you've never been in one, and second, yeah, it's for real this time. I don't think we're getting back together anytime soon. She was getting real cozy with Token last time I saw her. And before Cartman presented, she was kinda sniffing around him, too. Trying to scent if he'd be beta or omega, I guess." 

"Ugh. Speaking of the fatass, he's gonna get even more insufferable now, isn't he," Kyle muttered. 

"Not gonna lie, I kinda wished he had turned out omega," Stan replied as he balanced two heavy milk cartons on either side of his tray. For some reason, he'd been feeling hungry as fuck for a week straight, but he didn't seem to be gaining any weight in his middle, which was usually the first area of his anatomy to succumb to extra pudge. 

Kyle glowered at him. Uh oh, that definitely looked like his 'I'm gearing up for a spiel' face.

Absently, Stan noted that Kyle had three bananas on his tray, which he thought was a little weird, since Kyle didn't really like them much. Or at least he thought Kyle didn't. Maybe Kyle was just really hungry for once, because he ate like a bird most days. 

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Stan! First of all, we aren't defined by our sex or status. Second, it's in the interest of everyone, regardless of status, to invest in a better future for all sexes, including omegas. Third, you also know that thousands of brave omegas are unjustly persecuted, jailed, and discriminated, like being refused raises or promotions, or not allowing them to work in medicine or the military, or even share fucking public bathrooms with betas and alphas when they aren't even in heat! To wish the status of omega on someone who pisses you off is an insult to omegas all over-"

Stan rolled his eyes, having heard this speech approximately a million times before. He set the tray down before holding up his hands in defense. "I know, Kyle. Jeez. You're preaching to the choir, dude. You should like, start a petition or something. We can wear buttons with slogans like, Omegas just aren't holes, you assholes, or whatever. You can think of a catchier phrase." 

Kyle huffed, "Maybe I will." He began peeling off his first banana in a manner reminiscent of skinning a large rodent, probably still a little sore about Stan's comment. 

Stan sighed, patting Kyle on the back as he chomped viciously on his banana. "Uh-huh. You do that, buddy."

He and Kyle sat with their contingency group whenever the four of them weren't complete, which consisted of Butters (recently presented as a Beta - a surprise if Stan had ever seen one, because he'd always thought Butters had omega stamped all over him); the ever charming, middle finger-abusing Craig (presented three months ago as an alpha, and Stan swears his voice actually got even more nasal rather than the opposite); Christophe, who practically lived in a parallel realm consisting of baguettes and cigarette smoke (also an Alpha as of six months ago - no surprises there); and perpetually anxious Tweek (unpresented). Clyde was serving lunch detention for getting caught passing notes to Bebe in class, while Token was out sick. 

"D'you guys suppose Eric and Kenny wanna claim someone right off the bat?" Butters asked, looking in particular at Stan and Kyle.

"Ha!" Craig cut in, snorting. "We all know McCormick goes through sluts like a girl goes through underwear-"

"Are you actually implying you don't change your underwear, Tucker-" 

"I'd be surprised, Broflovski," Craig interrupted smoothly, narrowing his eyes at Kyle, who balefully glared back, "if he doesn't claim someone within the week. 'Wheeling bitches in' is practically the number one skill McWhoremick can put on his resume."

Kyle sat back and pursed his lips, because he knew it was true. Kenny really was sort of the high school ho - and who could blame him, really. He looked pretty damn good most of the time. He knew it, and he used it. Despite his poverty-line existence, now that he was an alpha, his social standing had to have increased. 

"And as for the fatass, well..."

"He'd manipulate any poor omega desperate enough for some relief," Christophe said in that raspy husk omegas seemed to instinctively gravitate towards. Stan still had trouble understanding him sometimes; it always took about three seconds of processing before his brain translated Christophe's heavy accent into something intelligible.

Luckily, Kyle seemed to have no trouble understanding Christophe, as did the rest of the table, who all nodded in collective agreement. 

 

-

 

Kyle was really big on equal rights for omegas, ever since Kyle had tearfully confessed a few years ago that he was almost certain he'd present omega. It was after he found out that his cousin Kyle presented omega at his Bar Mitzvah and his Dad's brother was also an omega. 

"And fuck, just look at me," Kyle had gestured to himself, wringing his hands, "I haven't grown beyond this tiny as shit height. And my skin and hair? You know what Bebe said about it the other day? It was shiny. Shiny, Stanley. Do you know what that means?"

"Uh, you take really good care of your skin? You bathe in the blood of virgins? Dude, how the hell am I supposed to know what's up Bebe's head?" Stan didn't understand what Kyle was ranting about that time. It was a discombobulated mess of tears, snot, and screaming obscenities at the state of his skin, which was apparently the envy of girls. The way Kyle was steaming on ahead, Stan was convinced Kyle was going to kick him out and yell like he never wanted to see Stan again (meaning he didn't want to see Stan until at least twenty-four later, in Kyle-speak).

"No, it means I'm showing the pre-pubescent omega signs! Ugh! Read up on that shit sometimes, will you?" Kyle had half-cried, half-screamed in frustration. "That's what the pamphlets they give out in health class are for!"

"Chill a bit, Kyle. And you know I don't care about that junk. Besides-" he squinted for effect, leaning in close to Kyle's face, enough to see a slight pink tinge Kyle's cheeks, "you do have great skin. Not a zit in sight. Just take it for what it is. Not everything has to be a sign of the omegapocalypse."

"You're just saying that because you'll probably present alpha like your dad and Uncle Jimbo. God, this town is practically overrun with alphas, I don't know how the abortion clinic still exists."

Stan shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not, who knows." It would be nice to be one, all the benefits that came with having alpha status was definitely a plus in anyone's book. Stan knew his family, his friends, Wendy, even his peripheral friends-slash-frienemies the Goths and Craig's gang, were expecting him to present alpha. He played a ton of aggressive enough sports, went to parties like any normal kid, and was reasonably popular with both guys and girls, or at least popular enough that no one tried to pick a fight with him in the hallways. 

Yeah. He was going present alpha. Or a beta, maybe, if his body decided to deviate from the a little thing called hereditary traits. There hadn't been a Marsh omega in decades, or so his Dad had told him.

"- And omegapocalypse? What the hell?" Kyle repeated dryly, face softening into mild amusement. "And what do you suppose the four horsemen are, oh wise one?"

"Hmm. Great skin, Shiny hair..." Stan scrunched his face up in mock-thought. "Temper that could kill? And a nice ass."

"Dumbshit. You just had to put that in! This is what you get for throwing the brochures away, you ignorant goon," Kyle had said, throwing a pillow at his face, a hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"Well, educate me, then. You can put it in better terms."

"You mean something simple your pea brain gets in a snap," Kyle said, flopping down on his bed with arms spread out. He hummed. "One thing they always tell you in the brochures is you know you're in omega heat when you get mood swings like crazy. Or you suddenly start feeling extremes - like lethargy or hyperactivity. Some people get insomnia. And almost all omegas experience a spike in appetite before heat."

Stan stared down at Kyle, taking in his best friend's so-called 'tiny' form. Kyle was bony and wiry, and he had always been a sickly kid. Along with his diabetes, these factors had definitely taken its toll on his body as he aged. "You're not that small, dude. 5'5'' isn't that bad. I bet you'd still be taller than the average omega."

"Yeah, the average omega living in Asia, maybe." 

"You _know_ that can't be true. Besides, insecurity isn't cute, dude," Stan said, and Kyle rolled his eyes. "Seriously. You put yourself down too much. Puberty isn't over, we're still gonna grow."

"I hope so," Kyle grouched. "At this rate, Ike's gonna shoot up over me by the time he's twelve."

Eventually, in normal Kyle fashion, his momentary grief and anxiety turned into righteous indignation coupled with a desire to make things better. Typical Kyle, always rising to the challenge. That was two years ago. 

And Kyle did grow to about 5'8'' since then, which, Stan thinks, couldn't have been from sitting at his desk on weekends doing homework. Maybe Kyle would present as Alpha with him - he had the fiery disposition down pat, and all he needed was the knot. 

 

-

 

He, Kyle, and Kenny had gone to skip rocks at Stark's Pond the day after Kenny presented - well, that was the original plan. But as usual, Kyle just sat on the ground, eschewing rocks for graphs and pencils, saying that he needed to study in advance. Usually, Stan would groan at him for being lame, and Kenny would crouch behind Kyle and poke at his shoulder with a stick - not unlike poking a sleeping bear - until he gave in. But that day, Stan just nodded and pulled on Kenny's arm, standing a few feet away from Kyle's hearing range. 

"It's pretty sweet," Kenny said, crossing his arms over his head in smug pleasure when Stan asked him how he felt about being transferred to the alpha class at sixteen. "I heard sex is supposed to be better with a knot and all. Can't wait to try that shit out."

Stan nodded, stealing a glance as Kenny's shirt rode up to expose his stomach. When had Kenny's torso gotten that good? And his arms, had they always looked that toned? As a child, Kenny was frequently malnourished, but as he got older he somehow also managed to eat better (partly from welfare, partly from taking up a part-time job at the mechanic's shop, and partly from being so good at sweet-talking nearly anyone into giving him some food). Kenny wasn't much of an athlete, but he had a naturally lean, swimmer's build, and Stan knew Kenny's occasional excursions as Mysterion contributed to maintaining that good shape. Over the years, Stan had shot up to a decent height, but Kenny wasn't that far behind, and they could see eye-to-eye without much issue. 

Stan contemplated this as he looked towards the lake, swung his arm back a bit and flicked his wrist.

Kenny whistled beside him. "5 skips. Nice."

Stan was already bracing for the next throw as he asked in the most casual tone he could muster, "How is it? I mean, do you feel any different? Do you, like... smell things better?"

Kenny raised an amused brow. "You don't smell differently to me, if that's what you're asking." 

Stan groaned, brow furrowing as Kenny chuckled next to him, way too pleased at Stan's discomfort. The asshole. "Seriously, shut the fuck up, Kenny. That's not even what I was asking."

Kenny smiled that shit-eating grin he usually did when he had a plan and didn't want to tell Stan. "How about me, Stanny-boy? How do I smell to you now that I've presented?"

"Like the usual. Oil grease and dust bunnies." That was a lie. Kenny actually smelled pretty fucking good, as a matter of fact, but Stan didn't think it's the sort of thing he could say to one of his best friends. 

 

-

 

Stan dropped Kyle and Kenny off at their respective places, with Kyle riding shotgun like always. Kenny stretched like a feline in the back of his car; he had a lot of legroom on days Cartman decided to fuck off and go on his own separate way for whatever reason. 

"Um. What are you doing?" Kyle asked, side-eyeing him. "Eyes on the road, dude. Front's already moving."

"Oh." Stan drew back. Only then did he realize he'd been really close to Kyle's neck, looking like a dog sniffing a tasty piece of meat. When he darted a glance toward the mirror, Kenny was smirking at him like he knew a secret. Goddamnit. "Sorry. Got a little distracted."

"With what?" Kyle sounded a tad irritated.

"Nothing. Stuff."

Kenny leaned in, putting his arm around Kyle's seat, still wearing that cheshire grin. "I think Stanny here's going to present soon."

"God, I hope so. Dad keeps introducing me to his coworkers' omega kids, saying it'll induce the alpha in me. Jesus."

"You can tell, Kenny?" Kyle asked, turning his head to the side to look Kenny in the eye.

"Sure." Kenny shrugged, then he put his other arm around Stan's seat, looking positively conspiratorial. "When you present, your sense of smell does get a lot better."

Stan blinked. "I thought you said -"

"Oh, hey! Here's my stop! Thanks Stan, you're the best."

And then he was out of the car, waving even as his back was already turned. 

"Goddamnit, Kenny," Stan said for the nth time that day. 

 

-

 

Hot. 

Everything was hot.

He's just burning like a furnace all around, to the point where he thought he must already be dead and burning in hell. He was sweating bullets even as he took his third shower of the night in the span of ninety minutes. He opened his window and the metal was cool to the touch, he almost wanted to glue his entire body there and never let go. When he made it back to his bed, already soaked, the tightness in his chest began to worsen, pulsing low in his gut. 

"No," he breathed out, to no one in particular. He shut his eyes tight as dampness began to trickle down his thigh. "No, no, no, no. Fuck, no."

Then he felt it - the absolute need to be filled with something, anything. 

He wrestled with this ache as he desperately tried not to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

Hard as it was to believe, Kenny had faked orgasms before. He'd put his scrunched-up, communing-with-the-universe, pleasure-stoked little O-face on when in fact he barely felt his cock twitch. It wasn't hard to do, and it was why he felt he could pass for a good actor. He'd extravagantly unbutton Kevin's old polo shirt that was a size too big for him, grunt like a wildebeest if his partner was more into understated sounds, or roar like the MGM lion if the person had to feel like a pornstar while fucking, then throw in a few little shakes like a loose wire was dancing around inside him, and _voila_ \- best fake sex ever.

One might ask why he would even do this in the first place, since he spent most of his hours - both busy and bored ones - plotting to get cute omegas and betas and maybe even alphas (if they were down for that shit) into bed with him. Men, much less alpha men, weren't supposed to be fakers.

Really, it became kind of necessary once he'd presented, for reasons he'd pin entirely on weird goddamned smells.

The first time he did this was with his regular omega lay, who suddenly and inexplicably smelled like a weird combination of durian and overly ripe peaches, he had to beat a hasty-but-sill-swaggering retreat to the bathroom while the omega caught her breath on his bed, and obscure the evidence, or lack thereof. The Trojan Jellycoat Alpha 1000s in his backpocket (swiped Craig's 12-piece pack for kicks when the asshole was too busy flipping off some poor beta teacher) suddenly didn't look like that much of a prize anymore. He had looked at the mirror for any bumps or boils and other anatomical anomalies, wondering why the hell his system was malfunctioning, for lack of a better term.

Everything was perfectly fine with this particular omega before he'd presented alpha. She was a couple of years older, had presented two years before him, and had been beneath him a couple times. It had gotten to a point where he'd found a perfectly comfortable, familiar rhythm. But now she smelled weird as fuck and Kenny felt like an asshole for telling her this was probably the last time they'd fuck because he couldn't deal with her moldy fruit smell.

"Oh," she'd said. Then she shrugged, wrinkling her nose as she did so. "That's okay. Caught a whiff of you, too, ya know. It's not a rotten egg that's been under your bed for a century kind of smell, so don't worry. Just an oily smell, kinda like fry grease."

Kenny chuckled as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "So we both smelled like shit to each other. Does that really, you know, happen when you present? What did I smell like to you before?"

"Damn, you don't really listen in health class, do you?" She clicked her tongue, and Kenny was vividly reminded of Kyle. "You didn't smell like anything to me before, just that Irish soap you use. I guess now we're not very compatible."

Kenny couldn't help it - he smirked down at her as she began pulling her pants on. "And even if I didn't smell great you still did the deed with me? I guess the charm overrides the scent." Maybe if the alpha was pounding away inside the omega, the drive overrode the repulsion, even if only for a few moments. Or maybe it just happened if the alpha was a pro at said pounding, like Kenny undoubtedly was at this point.

She rolled her eyes, her lips quirking up into a smile. "Just a teeny bit, McCormick. Can't deny you're good at what you do - please don't let that inflate your oversexed ego." She kissed him on the cheek - the first and last time - and said before going out the door, "Thanks for the fun, sugar. Your omega better be prepared for you."

Honestly, Kenny hadn't processed much of anything after he saw her smile at him like he was simultaneously the best thing in the world and its biggest idiot. It was because he saw Kyle again in that mildly condescending but still hopelessly adorable expression.

Shit. Why was he thinking about Kyle lately? Seriously. It wasn't like there were no other hot omega guys in school.

Okay, fine - there were no other hot _redhead_ omega guys at school. Kyle was one in a million in that sense. But Kyle hadn't even presented yet, so he should be out of the list of options.

Right?

Anyway.

Kenny being, well, himself, he knew there was bound to be a line-up of well-intentioned potentials that would have heard of his availability before his previous lover's cum had dried off his stomach. Some would feel it was their duty, if not to allow themselves to be fucked by him, then simply to make up for their fellow omega's or beta's failings by going on a date or two with him. These 'dates' mostly consisted of eating dollar-store packed meals, drinking even cheaper beer, and falling into Kenny's ratty bed past midnight. Whether it was for simple making out or actual sex, that was up to his partners to decide; Kenny didn't believe in making those supposedly 'lesser' in status submit to his every will and whim.

 

-

 

This weird as hell _interest_ in Kyle only escalated as the weeks wore on. Even worse, Stan was becoming a pain in the ass, too.

Having one interest (he refused to say infatuation, because Damien would freeze hell over first while in full Ru Paul-esque drag before he admitted it) was annoying enough, but two? And on his dudebros, no less? _Quelle horreur_.

Cartman was a non-issue. Most alphas would have territory problems being around another alpha all the time. But since and he and Cartman had grown up together, they'd become used to each other's metaphorical alpha pee, to put it in the crudest terms. He doubted Cartman would be as easygoing with someone like, say, Craig or Token, just because they hadn't done the crazy shit he and Kenny had done.

Hell, Cartman was still more comfortable with the likes of Kyle, simply because their shared history was too great to ignore. And though Kenny was his default best friend, he probably respected Stan the most because he had almost nothing to pick on him for, apart from being an animal-loving tree-hugger.

That would change once Stan presented. Kenny knew just by his scent changing that he'd be presenting soon. Cartman could definitely smell it, too.

Alphas like Cartman, Craig, and his own dad smelled like tree bark to Kenny. Not repulsive, but something he wasn't that keen on. More importantly, they smelled the same to Kenny, certain smells becoming stronger or weaker depending on a variety of physical and environmental factors, like Cartman's sweaty pit rolls or Craig's chainsmoking.

Stan smelled faintly of apples and rain-soaked grass that day in Stark's Pond.

Needless to say, Kenny had practically leapt off the window of Stan's car the moment he'd spotted the tracks leading to his house, and jerked off to that scent the moment his back hit the bed and his pants hit the floor.

He'd imagined kissing Stan then, quickly but carefully. Stan would step away after a moment, looking like he was having an internal fight-or-flight situation, blue eyes wide and frantic. When he'd visibly start to panic and/or be on the verge of puking, Kenny would pull him gently by the shoulder and kiss him again. Stan was weird like that; when you slipped him the tongue, his bile would settle right back down into his gut, like all it took was tongue at the back of his throat to get his ever-lurking horniness out under his skin.

He knew, because he'd made out with Stan once when drunk. People would sooner congratulate him for that than hold him at fault. Stan was just good-looking as fuck, in an undeniably masculine, clean-cut, boy-next-door sorta way, that it was personally hard for Kenny to resist his formidable but approachable charm.

He didn't know if Stan ever remembered, since they never talked about it the day after. Better to play ignorant than to risk pulling the plug on their decade-long friendship. Stan was likely cool with it either way, but one never knew when Stan's stomach decided to stage a revolution.

 

-

 

He wondered the next day at school if Kyle now smelled like Stan, being super best friends and all. They'd probably osmosis-ed each other's scent by now, or some other science-y shit that would allow your best butt buddy for life to take in your scent.

His burning curiosity was answered when he got a whiff of Kyle when they were hanging out at their lockers waiting for Stan to finish football practice. He smelled like fabric softener and fancy strawberry shampoo. Nothing out of the ordinary. Kenny usually smelled the strawberries, just a hint, when he was near; like when Kenny bothered him for class notes, and Kyle pursed his lips and stared straight on ahead with a look on his face like maybe if he ignored the dog it'll stop poking its nose in his leg.

But today, oh today - Kyle had begun to smell... different. Not strawberries, surprisingly. He couldn't smell the shampoo anymore, or Kyle's spray-on deodorant, or any chemical scent. Kyle now smelled like freshly cut mint, with an underlying note of a citrus. Lime or lemon, Kenny couldn't be assed to differentiate. It was just good.

"Kenny! Ken! Jesus, there you are, dickwad. I still haven't gotten my History notes back! You know I need that like two fucking hours from now and I still haven't made revisions..."

Kyle still brought that limey and minty scent with him as he approached from the corner. He sounded sick, voice scratchy and thick with phlegm.

Kenny didn't get sick that often, unlike Kyle, but when he did it was intense; fuck, he'd even legitimately died of sickness when they were nine; it was slow and agonizing and Stan - giant pussy that he was - didn't even visit. He'd wished that time he could crack his head in half and scoop out its gummy contents. Years later, as a reckless shithead teenager with too much adrenaline in his blood, he'd jumped in front of a moving train in front of Stan just to see if he'd remember the death if it was more gruesome. Knowing Stan, he probably threw up three dinners at the sight while the morgue people cleaned his body up for the millionth time -

Speaking of Stan. There he was, in his apple and grass-aroma glory, walking beside Kyle and looking like the exact opposite of Kyle's deathly pale picture of health. He was patting Kyle's back, looking concerned, but there was something about him that was almost glowing. Kenny couldn't place it, and didn't even know if he wanted to.

The lights overhead hit Stan's black as night hair just so, and Kenny practically felt his underwear dissolve. What gives?

"Kenny, are you listening?"

"Uh, sorry, what?"

Kenny looked back at Kyle, gorgeous Kyle with a hair trigger temper and the fiery hair to match, who smelled fresh off a lemon bath. Beautiful Kyle, who hadn't presented yet but was now on the cusp, just like Stan. Almost there, but not quite.

Kenny had to remind himself of this before he found his body wrapped in eternal bondage with Kyle or something.

Kyle frowned. "You spaced out. You weren't even looking at me." He sounded less angry and more surprised, as if Kenny hadn't failed to give him his full attention before. Which, okay, was a fair assessment.

"Where's Stan?" Kenny blurted out suddenly, without really meaning to. He could've sworn Stan was there beside Kyle a hot minute ago.

Kyle glanced behind him, then turned back to Kenny with eyebrows inched up to his forehead. On his tired face, the look seemed more grave. "He left five minutes ago. He said, and I quote verbatim, 'see ya guys later'. Are you okay, dude? And I still haven't seen you making any kind of move to get my notes when I've been standing in front of you for the same amount of time Stan's been gone."

Kenny rubbed the back of his neck. How could he explain something he didn't completely understand himself?

"Ken?" Kyle was beginning to look worried, as he - maybe unconsciously - began to bite at his lower lip. It was mauve at the edges, but the normal pinkness was still peeking from the plump center.

"Aw, shit. Please stop that," Kenny said, totally unintentional.

Kyle blinked rapidly in response. "Stop what?"

"... Forget it, it's just some dumb thing I thought of."

Kyle opened his mouth, but Kenny beat him to it. For someone who looked and seemed so lethargic, he seemed pretty dead-set on lecturing Kenny on some mundane sin that would take Kenny ninety-nine years to figure out. Once Kyle got started on one of his speeches, nothing short of a nuclear holocaust could stop him.

"Anyway, are we still on for gaming at Stan's? You look pretty out of it yourself, you know." He hastily threw his locker open and scrambled to get Kyle's notes. It wasn't that tough to find, since the pages had obnoxious neon markers sticking out on top.

"It's just allergy season. Forgot to dust my room last weekend," Kyle said as he was handed his notes, coughing on cue. Maybe it was just Kenny, but he didn't sound that convincing. Kyle definitely knew what was up with himself. "About later, Stan didn't say anything about cancelling. And you know the fatass won't dream of missing out on that free KFC."

"Right," Kenny said slowly, trailing off. He was beginning to feel like a specimen under Kyle's microscope, the way his eyes pierced through him like a homing laser.

"- Hey, Ken. Are you a hundred percent sure you're okay? Is it something at home, or about Karen? You know you can tell me, right, dude?" Kyle put his hand on Kenny's shoulder, and it was kinda cliche, but his touch was all sorts of burning. It wasn't just weird, it was alarming - especially since the hallway was cold with stale air-conditioning.

Best to come out with it, then. "Kyle, do you feel like you're... changing?" He cringed inwardly, because _jesus christ_ , his brain couldn't come up with something better than a bad intro to the _Thriller_ music video?

Kyle's eyes widened a fraction, and he looked like his regular ol' fired up self for a second. He took a tentative step closer to Kenny, looking right at his eyes. "You mean... like I'm about to present? Is this like that time in Stan's car?"

Kenny felt a little lightheaded, like he was heading toward a minor death, so it was easier to say, "Yeah, exactly like that time."

"How?" said Kyle, who pretty obviously knew what Kenny was talking about but was, for some reason, choosing to play dumb with him. He stepped even closer to Kenny until their chests were almost touching.

"Shit, dude. I dunno. You just smell..." Kenny groaned, closing his eyes. "Really fucking good."

"... Oh."

"Yeah. Oh," he hissed through his teeth, blinking away the spots when he opened his eyes again. The air around them seemed completely filled with Kyle's scent now, only Kyle didn't seem to notice how Kenny's body was practically convulsing with arousal.

"I'm sorry, Ken," Kyle replied quietly, his adam's apple moving convulsively. His breath brushed Kenny's ear, and something warm and pleasant and _so very wrong_ uncurled low in Kenny's belly.

Kyle knew it. Kyle listened in all the classes and read about this shit even before they entered their teen years. He knew the implications of him smelling good to Kenny.

Things were gonna get either really exciting or really awkward from that point onwards.

Kenny took a deep, careful breath in, picking up the now familiar, maddening scent. "Nothing to forgive. Now, will you kindly get the fuck off me?"

Kyle stared at him, eyes darting to Kenny's lips, face shifting through a series of emotions, before he took a step back, out of Kenny's personal space. He complied pretty quickly, all things considered. "I - yeah. I'll see you later, I guess."

"Maybe think about getting some scent-blockers, huh?" Kenny couldn't resist throwing that in before Kyle disappeared from sight. "Not gonna lie, your scent's driving me fucking crazy right now. I wish I can say it's just one of my infamous lines, but not today, sweetheart."

Kyle, no matter what state he was currently in, always had the energy to roll his eyes.

 

-

 

Kyle's call came at around 2 AM, while he was sexting on his old, cracked Nokia with Craig, because lord knew Craig enjoyed some good anal now and then just before he'd presented alpha, and being alpha didn't really mean you could stop taking it up the ass if that was really your thing.

He'd picked up in the middle of pinching his nipples to simulate Craig's wild teeth going at the hard little nubs. Kyle opened with a real nail-biter, sounding like he was simultaneously crying and dry-heaving with barely suppressed panic.

"K-Ken-"

"Kyle, calm down. Sssh, breathe. Tell me what's wrong." He'd sat up, taken his slick hand off his chest, and tried to push thoughts of Craig and his busted incisors at the back of his mind.

"Ken, you have to go to Stan's house. Right now."

Kenny's heart dropped to his stomach, fearing the worst. "What happened? Is he okay? Is Stan -"

"Stan is... he's in heat." Kyle took a deep breath, and Kenny could picture him running a shaky hand through his curls. "He called me, and he sounded like - oh, god. I've read about all this but to hear it actually happening to my best friend. _Shit_. I've told him to take a cold shower but he said he's already done it, soaked his face in ice water, even. I don't know how else to help. And he, well, he told me to call you," Kyle concluded, growing quieter.

"Sssh. It's gonna be okay, Kyle. Stan's gonna be okay."

(Kyle would later tell him that he'd been like that because he was scared to death of his own impending heat. He could have stayed in a state of blissful ignorance until it actually happened. But then Stan had to ruin everything by showing him just how real it could be.

And as for Stan, he would also later tell him that at the time, he was too embarrassed to tell Kenny himself. The weight of expectation was heavy on his shoulders. He'd get over it. Not in a few days or even in a few months, but eventually he did.)

"Fuck, you're so - you're so calm. How do you do that?" Kyle laughed breathlessly over the line.

Kenny was already shrugging on his worn-in parka. "Playing superhero for a while helped, but mostly 'cos I've literally lived through hell and back. Anyway, he's not dying or nothin'. I'll be over at Stan's in a few."

"What are you gonna do?"

Now it was Kenny's turn to laugh. He was already by the front door and slipping into his old snow boots, thanking the universe that his dad wasn't around to throw a beer bottles at his face. "Kyle, you know this is why Stan made you call me. He knew I was the only one who can help. It's not like Cartman or that asshole Craig'll do it since he can't stand dear ol' Stanny."

"Be careful," Kyle muttered, after a moment.

Kenny patted his backpocket. There was a grand total of two leftover condoms nestled snugly below some loose change and a crumpled pack of Marlboros. Sweet. "No worries, babe. I've got all the protection I need right here."

Kyle groaned, but pointedly didn't yell at him for calling him another ridiculous flirty pet name.

 

-

 

By the time he got to Stan's place, he'd worked himself up to a state of nervous anticipation. Things like _boundaries between friends_ and _sex with a guy who's not only a friend but an actual soul brother_ were pushed to the background, in favor of _sex with a really hot omega who I may or may not have had the hots for since making out one time at a party_.

Kenny would be the first to admit that forethought was not one of his strengths.

Over the years, he and the other guys had perfected the climb up to Stan's room. He swung his entire body onto the roof so fast it was like fire was right behind him.

He opened Stan's window an inch, and the crisp scent curling under the cracked opening hit him like an anvil. He braced himself, opening it all the way and closing his mouth shut, trying not to let his hormones take over just yet. He tried to adjust to both the overwhelming chill and the smell of sweet apples around the entire room.

Stan was naked atop his sheets, the sides already darkening with lubrication. He bit the heel of one hand, twisting his other hand's fingers on his generously shaped omega cock - and _oh shit_ , Kenny tried his best not to lose his mind right then and there. He continued to watch Stan try to sink his lean, muscled body further into his bed; he turned his head towards Kenny, and there was heat in his gaze, a heat that Kenny had only ever seen directed at him when Stan was dead drunk. It was startling, but not as much as the spark that lit in Kenny's belly when Stan's eyes flicked up slightly to meet his.

Focus, focus, focus. This was one of his best friends. _Focus_.

"Stan?"

Stan's eyes had seen through him, closed for a moment, then snapped open and found his gaze again. The sensations wrung from Kenny's body was strange but not unwelcome - there was something insanely hot about watching Stan this way, not touching but knowing he was just waiting for Stan to say 'come'.

"Ken?" Stan whispered, hoarse and raw. "What are you... where'd you come from?"

"Kyle called." Kenny swallowed, nodding his chin towards Stan and taking a small step forward. It was all he could do not to jump on top of Stan and hump him like there was no tomorrow.

Stan didn't reply, and Kenny watched, mouth starting to water, as Stan reached down behind himself and placed two fingers in his wet hole. It went in obscenely slow. He watched Stan pump again and again, then bite back a deep moan as he crooked his fingers inside himself.

Kenny also spotted Stan's reddened eyes, the glistening tear tracks left on his flushed cheeks, but decided not to comment.

"Do you... need any help with that?"

On any other day, Stan would laugh at his 'I just picked this line up from the hardcore porn movie I was watching five minutes ago' line and tell him to fuck off.

But apparently, Stan was all business when he was horny. His voice was a little high and cracking at the end, but it was clear as day - "God fucking damnit, Kenny, you know I'll say yes. C'mere, please."

Kenny grinned.


End file.
